


What You See Every Day

by ao3afterdark



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Incest, Sibling Incest, Voyeurism, by proxy but the desire is there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 10:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7712023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ao3afterdark/pseuds/ao3afterdark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bethany Hawke has a narrow escape, which gives lady Hawke some disquieting feelings that eventually prove too much for her to handle without... help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You See Every Day

The fight was over embarrassingly quickly, almost before it started. Hawke sank to her knees, wheezing and clutching at her midsection where a cliffside bandit had gotten in a lucky hit. No blood warmed her hand, but every breath hurt. Somewhere behind her she could hear a rough cough she recognized as Fenris, as Fenris in pain, but before she could turn to look hands seized hold of her and forced her back around in time to see Bethany stumbling back and away from the man that had so decimated Hawke.

“Out of mana, princess?” He crooned, stepping in close. “Not an enviable position to be in.” Moonlight spilled through the fall of Bethany’s hair, alighting on the blade of her staff where it’d fallen to the ground, trapped beneath the body of the two handed fighter Bethany had managed to put down. More than Hawke herself had done, she thought with a bitter twist to her mouth that she shoved away at once, the same way she shoved away the confusing tumble of warmth in her gut when the man’s hand came up, not so much pushing Bethany back against the rock wall at her back, though it did do that, so much as slowly making a wandering way up her belly. “Neither is this one, though it’s a damn sight better position to be in than whoever draws the short straw to fuck your sister.”

Hawke colored --she knew what she looked like, her face scarred and careworn from a lifetime of battles, short as that lifetime was and may yet be-- before she paled still further, realizing what that meant for Bethany, lips peeling away from her teeth in a silent snarl as he smoothed a scarred and dirty hand over her sister’s breast. Bethany went rigid. Her brows arched up towards her hairline as she drew in a shivering breath that only served to bring even more attention to her chest. Everyone, Hawke included, watched it strain the ties on her tunic. The gang member swirled his thumb over where her nipple lay beneath the fabric, leaving a streak of grit that slowly shifted into shadow as Bethany’s nipple rose to a peak beneath the ministrations. Bethany whimpered, to crude laughter. “Hey,” the man said, leaning in to leer at Bethany. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

Bethany’s silence was all the answer the man needed. He spread a gap-toothed grin and pushed her back against the rockface, working a knee in between her legs. Hawke gave a hoarse cry, struggling against the hands holding her back. Could only watch as the top of Bethany’s tunic was pulled down and away, baring her breasts to the cool night air. They swung, full and heavy, with every movement as Bethany pushed back against the bandit, voice rising to ring out in protest, but it didn’t matter. The bandit simply swatted away Bethany’s hands. Replaced the hand she’d spread over her breasts in a vain attempt to cover herself with his own, releasing a breath on a long, low groan. “Tonight you’re going to find out that every little Ferelden princess is a bitch in heat for the right cock.”

Someone made a noise then, Hawke never found out who, whether it was her or Bethany herself, as the bandit stepped in, forcing Bethany back still further. His hands came up to grip her hips, pulling her flush against him as he grinned and sealed their mouths together. There was a commotion behind them, but Hawke couldn’t tear her eyes away from the tears gathering to fall down Bethany’s face, catching on the creases made in her cheeks where she cringed away from the tongue invading her mouth. Her own breath caught, and she couldn’t seem to find it again, leaving her gasping as she was forced to watch a wandering hand rise to squeeze and fondle Bethany’s breast, earning an artless cry, muffled by the bandit’s mouth.

 

 

 

To her shock and horror, Hawke found herself staring at that hand, captivated by the rough grip and smear of dirt and blood over her sister’s nipple. In that moment, she wanted nothing so much as to watch what would happen next, and let out a sigh of her own when rough fingers gave a pinch, making Bethany squirm and whimper, pushing back against the rocks at her back, but there was nowhere to go, and she only succeeded in shifting so that the bandit’s knee was wedged all the more firmly between her legs. Something about that sight, of seeing her sister spread wide and waiting, made Hawke twist against the hands holding her, but not to get away, not this time. She wanted only to huddle in on herself, confused by the muddle of feelings that kept her eyes riveted there, trapped just as thoroughly as the bandit tore away Bethany’s scarf and attacked her throat. Pulled her head back with a hand tight in her hair and bit and suckled on her throat, pulling out helpless, hopeless cries from both Bethany and Hawke, unwilling to look away. She told herself that it was because her sister deserved this, at least, when in actuality she didn’t want to look away.

Couldn’t.

Felt her blood quicken. She let out a soundless exhale that caught as Bethany’s mouth fell around the shape of a sob, and gave a jerk when there came a scream at her side, torn violently out of her reverie as one set of hands holding her still fell away, to be replaced by a familiar shield. The graven image of a sword wreathed in flame dropped like a curtain, Aveline’s face going as red as her hair when she saw the drama unfolding beyond. “Guards! To me!” She yelled, hoarse and cracking, only to strengthen into a wordless roar as she hurled herself down the slope. At the sound, the bandit lifted his face from Bethany’s bare breasts, leaving a trail of spittle that caught the light, just as did the sword that flickered down through the moonlight and into his face.

All else fell away into a confusion of sound and movement, but for those moments, Hawke could only look on her baby sister where she huddled, clutching the ruins of her tunic to herself, and want.  
******

Hours passed, after, meaningless questions and reassurances and words of gratitude that tasted like ashes in her mouth until finally they were left alone. Bethany was quiet and pale, though she smiled still at Leandra and Gamlen, fleeing quickly for the safety and seclusion of their room. Hawke followed soon after, not trusting herself to be able to carry on conversation in her state. Bethany was already up in her bunk. She’d blown out the candle, clearly under the impression that Hawke had wanted company that night, as she usually did, but tonight Hawke couldn’t get to bed quickly enough. She changed in the dark, shucking off armor and weapons until she was down to the thin leathers she wore as her underarmor, and climbed into the bottom bunk. It was lumpy and uncomfortable, but it wasn’t that that kept her laying awake and staring, listening to Bethany toss and turn on the upper bunk for what felt like a small eternity until finally she settled.

 

 

 

Silence pressed heavy on her, weighing her down to the mattress. It was long minutes after, still, before Hawke gave in, before she wormed a hand inside her night clothes and touched a tentative finger to the knot of growing warmth between her legs. Hawke bucked up into the touch, her hips leaping to follow her hand as she drew it away as if the touch had burned her, and so it had. She lay there for long moments, gasping, before giving a quiet moan and flinging her arm up over her head. “I’m awful,” she told the mattress overhead. Froze when it creaked and shifted and Bethany’s voice drifted down, thick with sleep and not the desire that had so thickened Hawke’s.

“Yes,” Bethany yawned, “you are. And you’ll be worse if you don’t go to sleep.”

Almost despite herself, Hawke’s hand drifted back beneath her smalls. She had to work to hold back a whine as she spread herself with shaking fingers. “Bethy?” She asked, and was amazed at how steady her voice was.

“Mmm?”

“You’re-” Hawke swallowed, her face contorting around a soundless gasp of pleasure before continuing, “very brave. For doing what you do. I’m-” another pause as she sucked in air that wasn’t enough, not by half, and cursed the quaver in her voice when she went on, “proud. I’m proud.”

For a moment there was quiet, and she was afraid that Bethany had noticed -but still her hand worked, and to her shame, the thought of being caught lit her even more aflame, made her press her thighs together to stop them from quivering-- but then there came a soft sound, one that made her stifle a moan, and Bethany said, “Th-thank you, sister.” There came a shifting of cloth, and Hawke could easily imagine Bethany touching her fingers to a smile that she ached, suddenly, to see stretched wide around a cock. Could picture it in every detail. That rosebud mouth put to good use at last, Bethany’s eyes flared wide as she struggled, gagging, maybe, and Hawke had to draw in a breath that shook, straining not to make any noise. “That means a lot.”

Hawke had almost forgotten that Bethany had been speaking at all, gave a guilty jerk, one that brought her pressing up into her fingers, forcing them ever deeper inside. Her mouth worked, twisting to muffle her noises as she drew her fingers in and out, curved them to scissor between her folds, and every second she strained to listen for the slightest noise from Bethany, every one drawing her on. She thought for sure that Bethany had fallen back asleep, so quiet had she become, when there came another creak of of the corncob mattress as Bethany turned over, saying something indistinct. “What was that?”

“Said I’m not brave.”

 

 

 

“Of course you are,” Hawke said automatically, and even as she did there came that traitorous little voice that wondered at how brave she’d have been if they hadn’t been interrupted.

Almost as if she’d read her mind, Bethany said, “I wasn’t brave at all. A braver person, a braver woman, wouldn’t have acted like I did when that man, he-” There came a strange noise then that might have been a laugh or a cry, and she went on, “A braver woman wouldn’t rely on other people to save her, the way I did. The way I always do.”

It was a few seconds before Hawke could steady her voice to the point she was sure it wouldn’t shake when she asked, “What do you mean?” Easy question, easy answer. She knew. She’d always known. But hearing the telltale hitch in Bethany’s voice that heralded a coming sob made a decision she hadn’t even known she’d been making.  
****

It was surprisingly easy to arrange, if time consuming in its details. It’d have been the work of a moment to get her sister drunk and toss her in a seedy bar, but the arrangement she wanted, that consumed her thoughts until she fair burned for them, that took careful planning. Took a bribe or three, particularly when the gang in question found out she wanted to watch. She almost lost her courage when the gang member that was her contact leered at her, brows raised, and could only think of Bethany’s terrified face when that man had leered at her, but. That /was/ the only thing she could think of. The image had refused to leave her, had hounded her sleep or, more accurately, had kept her from sleep, as the days stretched into weeks. As she watched Bethany smile and laugh, and always she thought back to that day. She knew what her sister looked like when she was ground down on someone’s knee as her breasts spilled out of her tunic, theirs to touch and taste and take. Now, she wanted to see her gaping as a cock drove in her, see the sweat gather in the spot between her breasts as she was driven back, again and again. Would it happen in a bed, she wondered? Or an alley, down on her hands and knees?

Her thoughts had often taken her to both, to many more besides, and now, thoughts weren’t enough. Now, she watched from behind a half tumbled down wall in Darktown as Bethany made her way back from helping in Anders’s clinic, as she often did. Watched a trio of men surround her from the dark. Watched Bethany’s hands flare with light, watched Bethany smother the reflex, knowing that she could be witnessed here, that any one of these men could deliver word of her to the templars, and by the time she thought better of it, it was too late. One of the men was a former templar, and it was work of but a moment for him to use abilities that he still kept close to silence her sister. Bethany staggered, eyes wide, disorientated and off balance by the sudden gaping void where her magic had used to be, and offered only a token struggle as she was bundled off the path and into the alley where Hawke waited, along with the rest of the gang.

The air was thick with anticipation, and Hawke had to struggle for breath when she saw Bethany’s eyes, wide and white, throwing them back to that moonlit cliffside, only this time, they both knew, there would be no Aveline to save her. Hawke drank in Bethany’s despairing noise, barely stifling a few words of her own. What trepidation she’d had before was wiped away, gone as surely as Bethany’s clothes, ripped and shredded by uncareful hands, and it was only desire, excitement, that made her hands shake, now.

 

 

 

She shoved a hand down her pants just as the first man stepped up to Bethany. She was unsuprised to find herself already wet, took her time swirling a single fingertip around her clit, not quite touching. She shivered, biting her lip as she watched the man grip both of Bethany’s hands in one of his and shove them up over her head. Bethany’s clothes lay in tatters, her chainmail torn away, and, yes, sweat gleamed in the valley between Bethany’s breasts just as she’d imagined it would, could only wonder at how much would gather there from the coming exertion. She nearly gasped aloud when the gang member licked a long line up between her breasts, asked Bethany in a voice pitched low, just loud enough to carry to Hawke, what her breasts would taste like covered in his cum, the way they ought to be. Bethany threw herself up with a furious, terrified noise seethed between her teeth. Hawke drank it in. The rictus lock of her lips, the sway of her breasts. It was better than she’d thought, wanted, hoped. Her mouth parted on a smile, her breath cutting sharp into a low, whimpering needy sound was thankfully masked by the gang member’s hoarse cry of, “Oh, fuck,” and “fuck, fuck, you feel so good, you whore,” as he --finally, finally- pushed inside Bethany.

It was- it was intoxicating, watching. She could see everything, hear everything. The slap of his balls against Bethany’s cunt, her small, begging wails that were soon swallowed up in cheers from the other gang members. He’d released Bethany’s hands by now, dropped his hand to grip bruisingly tight at her hips, pounding into her, setting a rhythm Hawke was hard pressed to match, so dizzied was she by Bethany, by the sounds she made, by the sight of her legs spread to frame her cunt, itself stretched wide to admit a fat cock. She didn’t want it to be her doing it. It was enough, more than enough, to see and to hear and to fucking /taste/ Bethany’s desperation, her fear.

Her fingers fluttered over her clit, a fast tattoo that made her breath scrape her throat raw. Heat built low in her spine with every thrust. She licked dry lips. Both Hawke sisters trembled, shaking together as the man built up to his finish, his thrusts becoming jerking, irregular, falling out of time. He cursed, lifting his hand to brace beside Bethany’s head, and then, just as he’d promised, pulled out in time to sent thick, milky strings of cum over Bethany’s bare breasts. Hawke’s pants went high, almost a whine, but before she, or Bethany, had time to adjust a second man stepped in as the first stepped back. Hawke's eyes fluttered closed as Bethany let out another cry when he shoved in, a full body shudder running up and down her spine. "That's it, Bethy," she murmured, a trickle of moisture leaking out between her fingers to speed her way as she listened to the slick sounds, imagining that she was standing right there, that she was the one holding Bethany's hands down as the gang took their fill of her.

Swallowing hard, she pushed against the wall at her back with her shoulders, edging out around the corner, just enough to be able to see the wavering set to Bethany's full lips as a helpless groan wracked through her. The man atop laughed and resettled his hands from her hips, shoving her legs up high and quickening his pace. Hawke's breath caught. This new angle let her see every second, every inch of the cock slamming into her sister's cunt, and it took everything she had not to let out a moan of her own as the man asked if the Ferelden bitch had been waiting for this, to be filled, used the way a bitch ought to be. Maybe, he said, groaning as he pulled out inch by inch, they ought to leave her tied to a breeding pole in the middle of town. Someone laughed, said something, maybe telling him to hurry up, but Hawke was captivated by the thought, of Bethany being fucked by half the town, begging the way she was now as, yes, Varric took her, maybe filled her mouth the way she ached to see now, and almost missed it when Bethany started to cry. She didn’t miss the laughter, though, crude, mocking, setting a counterpoint to every wracking sob.

 

 

 

She whimpered when he drew back, seeing thick strings of cum drip from Bethany's swollen cunt, wanting more, needing more, and sighed along with Bethany as a third man stepped between Bethany's spread legs. His hand was at his cock, stroking it, preparing himself. She had enough time to recognize him as one of the mercenaries they had worked with in the Red Iron, recognize and wonder if he had wanted this just as much as she had, all that time. Hawke could barely restrain her wordless, needy sound when he lined himself up and shoved inside her baby sister in long thrust. It was easy, slicked by the passage of the others, and Hawke let her head fall back against the wall behind her, watching through eyes that had fallen to slits.

This time, she watched Bethany's face. Watched it bob back and forth with the force of every hard slam of the man's hips against hers, watched her mouth drop down around a sob. Hawke's breath caught in her throat, near strangling her as she started to come again, arching as bolts of sheer pleasure lanced through her again and again, and still she kept moving her fingers in time with every thrust. Her mouth had dried out, all of the moisture in her body seemingly dripping out between her fingers, so she made no sound when she cried out Bethany's name, even as Bethany cried out her own, begging, pleading for Hawke. It was almost too much, /was/ too much, and still there were more men, there was no end to them.

The muscles in her legs were leaping, making it difficult for her to get comfortable but very, very easy for her to imagine lying down beside Bethany, their thighs pressed together as they each spread wide, being able to feel more than see Bethany's throat work as she swallowed down another plea. The air was filled with the smell of sex now, musty and thick, enough to make Hawke liable to beg herself. She almost did, almost opened her mouth to tell the latest in the long line of men fucking her sister to go faster, take her harder, but she didn't need to. As if he had a direct connection to Hawke, the man started to fuck Bethany hard and fast, wringing out soft, whimpering cries from both Hawke women.

Hawke’s throat worked. If she’d been capable of speech before, she surely wasn’t now, was only capable of base sounds of need that seemed pulled from her, all unwilling. Whatever thoughts she’d had in her head of keeping silent had fled as surely as the protests of --hah-- a virgin. She whimpered, she mewled, thrust out her chest as her back bowed, unable to hold still as she started to come, harsh, guttural cries building between her teeth and tongue. She was still trembling, shoulders bowing with the effort it took simply to breathe, as this last gang member stepped aside, making room for another. Even from here, Hawke could see that he was large, his swollen cock larger than and of those before him, and she let out a low moan, fervent as a prayer, as she watched that cock press up against Bethany’s cunt and press inside, slowly at first, then slamming home until he was fully sheathed. Bethany screamed, in pleasure or in pain, sending Hawke plunging over that final chasm she had been teetering on.

 

 

 

Her legs flew up, toes curling in her boots as another orgasm ripped through her, making rough, inarticulate noises that were masked beneath the grunts and wet slap of skin against skin going on just a few feet away. She could feel internal muscles squeezing as she squirted once, twice, three times. She knew her trousers would be soaked but she didn't care, didn't care, reveled in every moment. It seemed to go on forever, seconds defined not by the passage of time but by electric heat boiling her from the inside out, leaving her limp and gasping, satisfied in a way she never had been before. Somewhere beyond, the last man was withdrawing from Bethany, they all were, leaving Bethany dangling limp and, she judged, somewhat less satisfied than Hawke was. She didn't have to look to know that the combined cum of the gang puddled beneath her spread thighs in a way that made her ache all over again, but not in an immediate way, as she had for weeks, but a warm, steady throb. Beneath her fingers, she could feel her clit beating in time to her panted breaths, and the sensation was a luxurious one.

She sat there for long moments, bent nearly in half as the last of the aftershocks thrummed through her blood. She tried to memorize each and every sensation, wanting it to last forever in her memory, but time dragged on, and soon the last dredges of desire fled away, and she became aware of minor discomforts. Giving a sigh, Hawke stood and rearranged her clothes to look at least somewhat presentable, the movement safely disguised by the gathering shadows of the alley, and made to leave when she was brought up short on seeing her hand. She made a face and wiped the drying white residue off on Bethany's discarded tunic as she turned and left her sister to sob in the dark.


End file.
